


Disconnect

by Surrealx3



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Making This Up As I Go, Teenlock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-28
Updated: 2014-02-06
Packaged: 2018-01-10 08:02:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1157116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Surrealx3/pseuds/Surrealx3
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John moves back to London after living in the countryside for seven years and meets the brilliant outcast, Sherlock Holmes. They take a liking to each other but according to everyone, that's not supposed to happen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

           “Why, would you look at that?”

            John looked over at Mike as he tried to shuffle through the crowded hallway, “Look at what?”

            Mike pointed down the hall at a bobbing head of copper brown hair. “It’s Sherlock Holmes. You’ve heard of him, haven’t you?”

            John shook his head, “Is he a big topic here?”

            “Right,” Mike face palmed himself, “You’re new here, of course you haven’t heard. Sherlock is so infamous around here, I forgot that there were places that his name hasn’t reached. You usually see hide nor tail of him at school so you’re pretty lucky to be able to see in on your first day. Would you like me to introduce you to him?”

            John nodded hesitantly, “I guess it’s always good to make a new friend.”

            “Well, that’s not what people usually do when they meet Sherlock Holmes.”

            John raised an eyebrow quizzically, “What do the usually do?”

            “Run away.”

            John didn’t know whether to laugh or get a head start running.

            Surely enough, during lunch, they took a detour into the chemistry room. The same bobbing head of copper was floating over a microscope but the tall, lithe boy glanced up with icy eyes that devoured them before returning to the microscope. He scribbled notes with his right hand while adjusting the microscope with his left.

            “Hey, Sherlock,” Mike stuck his hand in his pocket, a polite smile on his lips, “This is John, he’s-“

            “New,” Sherlock interrupted, “Transferred in from the countryside, actually moving back here, he used to live here when he was younger but still not quite used to London weather. It’s too obvious. He’s living in flat with his brother, perhaps because of a traumatic injury to his shoulder that he received while in the country side or perhaps because his grandfather, who was in military service, died and his grandmother was sent to a nursing home. That, I am still fuzzy on. The only thing I don’t know is why you brought him here to meet me, he seems like the average person, not exactly keen on meeting a social outcast, definitely not a sociopathic one, so why would you possibly think that he would benefit from meeting me?”

            John whispered to Mike, “Did you tell him about me?”

            “Please,” Sherlock said indignantly, “He didn’t tell me, I saw. You’re tan and the tan goes beyond your wrists, you were in a hot place for a long amount of time but it wasn’t a dangerously hot place and you’re wearing an unfashionable jumper, not a place where what you wear really matters so you’ve grown to wear whatever is comfortable. The jumper is hand-knitted, modern day mothers would never do that, it must have been a grandmother. Your grandmother knitted you a jumper when you lived in a warm climate, she must still be alive, eliminating the possibility of the army medal on your bag of being hers. You are carrying a Purple Heart medal, not exactly uncommon but you’re displaying it proudly, must be in honor of someone. It could be your father’s but according to that watch on your wrists, he’s not in the picture either. It’s dated but not dated enough to be your grandfather’s watch or modern enough to be your brother’s watch. So your grandfather died, leaving you and your grandmother alone. You wouldn’t leave her voluntarily, you’re wearing the jumper she knitted so you must be loyal so she must have had some illness that made it impossible for a high school student to take care of her alone, forcing you to move in with your brother who has a drinking problem, don’t even ask, the smell of alcohol still clings to you and you are obviously quite sober, while she lives in the care of a nursing home.”

            John took a deep breath before asking, “How did you know that I was returning? And the traumatic injury?”

            “Your dialect. And the injury is from how you hold your left leg stiffly, remnant of a psychiatric limp while you totally forget about it while simply standing. If it was a normal injury to the leg, you would have already gotten over it by now, scratch that, if it was a normal injury then you wouldn’t even have a psychiatric limp.”

            “Wow,” John let out a breath that he didn’t even know he was holding, “That was absolutely brilliant.”

            Sherlock dropped his pen, the thoughts on the experiment suddenly forgotten. He groped his fingers awkwardly as if he wished that he hadn’t. “Oh, uh,” he cleared his throat, “Thank you. That’s… That’s not what people usually say.”

            John laughed, “That’s right, Mike told me that people usually run away from you but I can’t see why. You’re absolutely amazing.”

            Sherlock found himself smiling back. An expression that was promptly cleared from his face at the sight of Mike’s astonishment.

            “Yes, well,” Sherlock cleared his throat again, “Thank you. You should probably go now or you’ll miss lunch.”

            “Right, can’t miss a meal. I’ll talk to you later, Sherlock.” John grinned and waved as he walked out the room.

            Mike followed after with a knowing smile, “Right, see you, Sherlock.”

            Sherlock nodded and went back to his experiment but found it strangely hard to focus. John. The friendly blond haired boy had an honest smile, short stature and ocean blue eyes that held hidden depths. Out of everything that he did know, he still didn’t know the boy’s last name. He must find that out as soon as possible and put an end to this restlessness stirring inside him.

            Sherlock didn’t have to wait long. He had the boy the very next period in economics. Since Mike wasn’t in this period, John had run late trying to find it. He stepped into class a couple of minutes after the bell rang and was about to severely by the Mr. Richard before the man realized that he didn’t recognize this student. However, Richard gave a punishment anyway and had John stand in front of the class and introduce himself.

            The teen took the punishment gracefully and smiled at the class as he said, “Hello, my name is John Watson. I just moved back to London and I’m living with my sister at the moment.”

            Sister. Sherlock could have punched himself. One of those occasions where statistics didn’t come through for him and he ended up feeling like a fool.

            John spotted him during his introduction and was walking past several empty seats to get to him and called out a cheery, “Hey, Sherlock.” If John did noticed every jaw in the room slacken, including Sherlock’s, then he didn’t show it. The boy sat down next to Sherlock with an enlarged grin, “Who would have thought that we’d have this class together?”

            The class was listening in for Sherlock to give one of his usual brutal responses but were shocked when they heard, “True it is rather unexpected. So, a sister.”

            John laughed, “You were off by a smidge but you were brilliant all the same.”

            The room couldn’t believe the next sight they were treated to. Sherlock smiled back, a real smile, not a mocking one like usual. “I guess so if you’re kind enough to forgive my error. I always get something wrong, statistic majority doesn’t apply as much as you would think.”

            “Okay, enough talk, you two,” Mr. Richard finally turned around after waiting for any signs of a fight, “Back to the lesson.”

            Sherlock usually didn’t pay attention to classes since they lacked the in depth planning that it would take to teach him anything but this time, he was simply too distracted by John’s presence. He found himself invested in the childish pursuit of trying to evoke more compliments from John by whispering observations about every student in class. He noted with glee that John was barely holding back giggles that he had put there.

            “Excuse me, Mr. Watson,” Mr. Richard growled, “What exactly is so funny about my lecture?” 

            John’s giggling stopped abruptly, which angered Sherlock significantly.

            “Mr. Richard,” Sherlock declared, mockingly, “You seem to have be having some trouble with your wife, would you like some advice?”

            Mr. Richard’s face grew beet red. “No, thank you, Mr. Holmes. Now I hope you two would stop talking like giggling girls and pay attention.”

            “Of course,” Sherlock grinned at John. He hadn’t he even gotten to Mr. Richard yet but this was a good reason to start.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't expect this chapter to be so short... Next chapter will be a lot longer with a lot more happening, promise.

            “Hey, John,” Sally called out to him.

            He stopped hesitantly. He learned in just one day from observing the girl with her followers and many admirers that she didn’t call out for just anybody. “Yes?”

            “I heard you hung around Sherlock last period,” She crossed her arms and frowned at the word Sherlock but also managed to finish the sentence by looking concerned. “I know you’re new here so you must not know that Sherlock is bad news. I heard that he blackmails all the teachers to let him do what he wants, that’s why he’s rarely in school. He doesn’t have to worry about his parents being called. And he does these experiments in the chemistry lab with real human parts, I’ve seen it before. He says that he obtained them legally but honestly, I think he’s just a serial killer that no one has caught. So, trust me, hanging around a freak like him is a bad idea.”

            John tried to keep up a polite smile while she talked but his expression darkened. “I’m sorry, I refuse to believe that he’s doing something as ridiculous as blackmailing teachers or killing people to use their body parts for experiments but thanks for the heads up.”

            He marched away, fuming silently. From what he had seen of the boy, arrogant as he was, he was simply a different type. Nothing about him warranted being called ‘a freak’ or ‘a serial killer.’ The very idea of Sherlock being a serial killer made him scoff since the boy had actually looked cute as he tried his best to show-off.

            And he had just called a guy cute. God, he hoped that it was the puppy cute.

            John shook that line of thought out of his head.

 Anyway, no one deserved to be isolated simply because they were different, especially not someone as talented as Sherlock.

            As much as he wanted to go to Sherlock and reaffirm that belief, his schedule worked against him, sending him farther and farther away from Sherlock as the day went on. He ended up walking home to an empty apartment before he could catch another glimpse of the self-proclaimed sociopath. He walked in the door and felt his mood drop even more. The sight of the emptiness was enough to crush any dreams of a presence in the house. Only a couch and a television remained in the living room since Clare had taken everything else with her when she left Harry. For Harry to have to come home to a place like this meant that Harry probably wasn’t going to come home at all until she had properly drowned her sorrows in drink and blamed the world for her problems. John dropped his bag in the living room and walked back out.

            This was the first time he wandered the streets since returning to London. Considering the last time he had been here was for his mother’s funeral and the next was to live with his drunk of a sister, he didn’t have a very good impression of the place. However, he couldn’t ever bring himself to hate the fast-paced, secretive city. In fact, before leaving his grandmother, she had let him in on what ate away at his heart whenever he watched tele. He missed running through the street, dodging beggars, having encounters with people that he saw on the news the next day and even laughing with Harry as they scared off bullies in the park. Even in the countryside, when he had those encounters with blood chilling excitement, his thirst for the city simply grew.

            After half an hour or so of wandering aimlessly, his stomach bellowed angrily so he redirected himself to the nearest café, Angelo’s. It was a small quaint place where a huge man that took up half the room waited on the tables. John scanned the room from the door, reluctant to go all the way in and find that there was nowhere to sit at. Unfortunately, the large, jolly man that vaguely reminded him of Santa Claus noticed him before he could finish the scan and came jostling over.

            “Welcome,” he guided John further in with a huge hand on John’s back, “We’re a bit crowded now but I bet we can find someone you wouldn’t mind sharing a seat.”

            “Oh, no thank you,” John shook his head nervously, “No need to go through that trouble my sake.”

            “Nonsense,” Angelo gave him a toothy grin, “What type of café owner would I be if I didn’t see to my customers properly?”

            John managed a polite smile before hearing a familiar voice gasp, “John?”

            “Sherlock,” John grinned, relieved, “What are you doing here?”

            Half of the ebony haired boy’s mouth twisted up in an awkward but happy half smile. “This place is close to my house so I come here all the time. Angelo owes me a favor, I got him off a murder charge so everything I get here is free. What are you doing here?”

            “Just reacquainting myself with London,” John came over and sat next to Sherlock in the window seat that he was at, “Then my stomach got the rumbles so I came here. Did you really get a man off a murder charge?”

            “Indeed, he did,” Angelo came lumbering over with a proud smile, “Our Sherlock here is a nature-born genius. Not only got evidence that I didn’t do it but caught the man who did.” He winked at Sherlock as he added, “A real catch, this one.”

            Neither of the boys had caught on to what Angelo was insinuating just yet. Sherlock just scoffed lightly, “It was far too easy. It would have been even easier if the police would stay out of my way as I investigated. They are out of their depths far too often to reject help, even if it is from one that they would call ‘a kid’.”

            “Wow,” Angelo slipped away as John’s eyes glimmered with intrigue, “But how and really, why? People don’t usually make a hobby of helping the police.”

            “Please,” Sherlock held his pride back behind a derisive snort, “This is no hobby. It’s a step towards my future career, an internship, maybe. I want to be the world’s first consulting detective and to do that, earning a reputation with Scotland Yard is essential. Angelo’s case is just one of the many cases that I’ve taken on. Most cases require knowledge of human tendencies, human anatomy, chemical reactions, identifying substances and the like.”

            “Chemical reactions,” John repeated, “Is that way you’re in the chemistry lab so often?”

            Angelo came back and casually lit a violet scented candle while Sherlock explained, “Yes, that’s one of the many reasons I am in there. I also experiment on the human body to see how it would react in certain conditions with certain specifications.”

            Sally’s words came right back to John like an angry bee and he blurted out, “How on earth do you get human body parts?”

            Sherlock barely seemed to notice the forcefulness of the question and answered easily, “A childhood acquaintance of mine works in a morgue. She usually supplies me with all the dead bodies I need.”

            “I see,” John smiled with relief and chuckled, “It’s not every day that I meet someone with such an exciting life. I would love to hear more about it.” Angelo slid a bowl of lasagna in front of John and nodded at John’s distracted, “Thank you” before he continued with “Your parents must be proud to have a son like you. You’re really extraordinary.”

            A small flush came to Sherlock’s cheeks that he hid be a thin, white hand, “They don’t think much of it. Really, they barely care as long as I don’t get myself killed.” Sherlock paused at seeing the look of pity on John’s face and waved it off, “I wouldn’t have it any other way. Besides… You never ordered.”

            John nodded then his eyes strayed down to the plate in front of him which he had already taken subconscious bites out of. “You’re right, I didn’t order anything and has this candle always been here?” They both paused.

            Sherlock said slowly, “It seems like this has been mistaken for a date.”

            John nodded, “I guess that’s the only sensible conclusion when two blokes are sitting at a café, talking about dead bodies.”

            Sherlock let out an odd sounding snort after trying to hold back his laughter which only made John laugh. Sherlock joined in, his baritone accompanying the gentle tenor of John’s laughter as they sat at the peaceful café under the light of the setting sun.

            Soon, they had to part but not without exchanging numbers. As soon as John closed the door of the flat, he heard the text tone of his phone.

**If it’s convenient, let’s hang out tomorrow. SH**

            Another text tone.

**If inconvenient, let’s hang out anyway. SH**

            John laughed as he texted back.

**Sure.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock is just having a bit of fun.

John’s fingers tapped against the desk steadily and his eyes traveled through the room. He tried doing what Sherlock did, observing rather than seeing but he quickly became skeptical of his own observations. It was still just second period and his restlessness was already unbearable. He hadn’t seen Sherlock today and assumed that the young genius was off doing something amazing. Now he didn’t have the prospect of seeing Sherlock to look forward to.

            His elderly history teacher stopped his ramblings at the sound of a polite knock at the classroom door. The man wobbled over and opened the door then exclaimed, “Young Holmes, how good it is to see you.”

            Sherlock peeked his ebony head through the door, “Hello sir, can I borrow John Watson for a bit?”

            John nearly shouted with happiness when he heard the baritone from his seat.

            The teacher nodded and threw a crooked grin at John, “Sure, he seemed bored out of his mind anyway.”

            Sherlock thanked the teacher and commanded quickly, “Bring your stuff, John,” before disappearing.

            John packed his bags, not even noticing the grin splitting his mouth apart, and followed behind. He had to jog to catch up with Sherlock, whose long strides were pumped by overflowing excitement.

            “What’s going on, Sherlock?” John asked, noting the excitement with amusement.

            Sherlock exclaimed, “It’s Christmas, John.”

            John chuckled, “Sorry to burst your bubble but, if I’m not mistaken, Christmas is still about a month and a half away.”

            “No, I mean I finally have another case and a delicious case at that,” Sherlock spoke quickly, his gray eyes alive with giddiness, “A serial killer is on the loose, hunting totally unrelated people, poisoning them in the most unexpected methods, you have heard of it, haven’t you? The supposed suicides?”

            “Sherlock,” The sociopath felt a hand clamp down hard against his arm and was suddenly pushed against a locker. He cringed as he saw John’s usually kind features overshadowed by anger. “What do you mean Christmas? People are dying, Sherlock.”

            Sherlock said helplessly, “But…”

            John’s glare turned severe, “But what?”

            “I’m going to put a stop to it,” and though it was unnecessary, he found himself adding, “I promise.”

            John broke into a relieved chuckle, his whole stance softened. He released his grip on Sherlock’s arm but rubbed it as he laid his head on Sherlock’s shoulder. “Right, sorry, I overreacted.”

            Sherlock stiffened in return, unsure of what course of action he should take next. Perhaps… he lifted a hand and was about to place it on John’s back when John pulled away with a renewed smile.

            “Sorry, mate, let’s get going.”

            Embarrassed, Sherlock tucked his hand into his coat pocket and walked off briskly, “Of course.”

            Out in the street, Sherlock led John into the shadow of the city, going through alleys and back roads until they arrived in the back of an old, abandoned building. Sherlock produced a bag that was tucked away behind a garbage can and opened it, revealing two sets of blue full body latex suits. He handed one to John.

            “In this building,” he explained, “An investigation is going on, a dead body is in a room on the second floor, a victim of the serial killer. We need to get in that room to investigate the body. The only way to do that is to blend in so put this on.”

            John looked at the blue suit then back up at Sherlock. “You’re kidding, right?”

            Sherlock’s eyes glimmered mischievously, “Timing is of the essence, John.”

            With an irrepressible grin, John took off the shoes and took the suit out of the bag. He put it on quickly but carefully and turned looked up to see that Sherlock had done the same. Next, Sherlock handed him and a mask. After half their youthful faces were hidden behind white masks and had white latex gloves on their hands, they entered the building through a broken window. John almost erupted with giggles as they went up the stairs and the professionals actually passed them by. They walked right past Inspector Lestrade and Andersen, who were talking about the case on the stairs.

            “Hey, you two,” they froze. Andersen was looking right at them.

            Sherlock turned around and said in his most benevolent voice, “Yes?”

            “Take a second look at the window, make sure nothing that can contaminate the crime scene can come in.”

            Sherlock nodded, “Yes sir.” They continued walking up until they reached the room. Once the door was closed behind them, they broke down laughing. “No time to giggle, John,” Sherlock said though he was barely containing himself, “only have a limited amount of time. Listen at the door.” Sherlock took off his gloves and went to examining the dead woman with a bright pink coat.

            John tried to suppress his smile in the presence of the dead woman but the adrenaline pumping through him was working like endorphins. “I can’t believe that guy just let us go like that.”

            Sherlock smirked, “You mean Andersen? The man lowers the IQ of the entire neighborhood every time he opens his mouth, of course he couldn’t see through our disguises.”

            John bit back a laugh, “You know him?”

            “He antagonized me quite a bit during my last case. The man he was talking to was Detective Inspector Lestrade, he’s reasonable enough when I humiliate him.”

            “Shh,” John pressed his ear against the door, “I think their coming back up.”

            Sherlock hastened to join John behind the door. The door opened and as the forensics expert and Detective Inspector walked in, the teenagers tip toed out the door behind them.

            John could hear Lestrade say, “Who were those guys anyway?”

            Andersen’s response was an explosive, “I don’t know. Come on before they get away.” He was too late. Sherlock and John ran out the door, unzipping the suits as they went. Sherlock waved for a cabby and nearly jumped in front of one before it stopped. The two hopped in, stripping off the suits and laughing until their stomachs ached.

            “I can’t believe,” John said through gasps, “We just did that.”

            Sherlock turned towards him, grinning, “All in a day’s work.”

            “That was bloody insane.”

            “Did you have fun?”

            Their eyes locked on each other and their laughter subsided. All that could be heard was John’s whisper. “Oh, God, yes.”

 

            John left out his house the next morning, refreshed and still grinning from ear to ear. Sherlock had promised that he’d be at school tomorrow so he finally had something to look forward to. He nearly skipped down the road, humming to himself and looking at London with fresh eyes. Then a car pulled up beside him.

            “John Watson?”

            He stopped and looked at the brunette in the backseat. “Yes?”

            She was chewing gum and texting, obviously disinterested in John but the brief smile she flashed when she looked up could have deceived him. “Get in.”

            “I’m sorry,” he stepped back, “You are pretty and all but you could at least tell me your name first.”

            “Anthea, get in.”

            “Why?”

            She blew a bubble slowly then used her tongue to pull it into her mouth. John could hear the little pop. “It has something to do with Sherlock Holmes.”

            Despite John’s reluctance, another word didn’t need to be said. He went on the other side of the car, opened the car door and got in.

            The car pulled off and once again, John found his hand drumming against his knee.

            The woman only looked over at him once and during that one time, she said with a smirk, “I didn’t expect you to be so excited.”

            He couldn’t deny it. Anything about Sherlock Holmes has a way of raising his pulse rate.

            The car stopped in an abandoned parking building. John got out and watched the lights turn on dramatically as he moved farther along the damp concrete floor until it finally revealed a tall man with a round build and commanding stature.

            John looked around for anyone else before saying hesitantly, “Hello?”

            “Hello, John,” the man smiled coldly, “It’s nice to meet you.”

            “You too?” John ventured.

            The man’s smile took a turn towards patronizing, “You are very well-versed at social trivialities but I didn’t call you here to test your eloquence. I wanted to talk to you about a certain Sherlock Holmes. It has come to my attention that you two have become fairly close within a short amount of time. I must admit that I am impressed but I also must ask your reason for choosing to associate yourself with him.”

            John stood with his mouth gaping. He was struggling between being offended and being confused. “Wait, let me get this straight. Are you asking why Sherlock and I are friends?”

            “Ah, so you’d venture to call yourself his friend. Being as far as friendship with a boy like my brother, going on dates with him, it’s all very progressive. At this rate, I think congratulations would be an order by the end of the month.”

            “It was not a date,” John said quickly, “We just ate together.”

            The man’s eyebrows with surprise, “Perhaps congratulations really is an order.”

            “No,” John’s eyes widened, “Did you say brother?”

            “Ah, yes, I’m Mycroft Holmes, the brother of Sherlock’s Holmes. I apologize for late introductions.”

            John asked, “Do you usually kidnap your brother’s friends?”

            “I probably would if he actually had friends.”

            “Right,” John pulled out his phone and glanced at the time, “Can I go to school now?”

            “Once you’ve answered my question, I will have Anthea drive you to school,” Mycroft’s smile turned dangerous, “Now please answer me and keep in mind that I can make your life miserable or even more miserable than it already is, I should say. For what reason have you chosen to associate yourself with Sherlock Holmes?”

            John answered plainly, “Because he’s the most brilliant person I’ve ever met. Can I go now?”

            Mycroft nodded, a small, sincere smile flitted across his features. “In that case, would you mind reporting his movements to his ever worried brother?”

            John shook his head and turned around. “Sorry but I would rather stay his friend than become his brother’s spy.”

            Fortunately, Mycroft didn’t stop him. John walked back to the car Anthea was in and requested to be driven to school. By time he actually got there, second period was nearly over and he was still looking forward to seeing Sherlock.


End file.
